


Laika

by FishingforCrows



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Animal Death, During Canon, Fluff, M/M, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Scene: Soho 1967 (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishingforCrows/pseuds/FishingforCrows
Summary: All dogs go to heaven.So it isn't unusual for Aziraphale to spot one on his way out, waiting by the gate for her master. She reminds him of the dog that Crowley owned for a brief time, but the name on the collar doesn't match. Still, he recognizes her. After all, who hasn't heard of the first dog to go to space.What an odd coincidence... or is it?





	Laika

**Author's Note:**

> Prepare to cry
> 
> I know I did

“So unnecessary,” Aziraphale griped under his breath as he thumbed through his bicentennial performance review. It was a relatively new practice for Heaven, having only started about five hundred years ago. Twice a century he would have to show up at head office, wait in a long line of other angels who were scheduled that day, and receive a stack of papers with little boxes rating how well he did in categories like “professionalism” and “efficient use of miracles”. That last category he tended not to score very well in. They weren’t all that in depth, he could tell they just based it on whatever paperwork you sent in. That part was fine by him, though, because that meant no one was looking hard enough to discover that half the blessings he reported weren’t actually done by him.

As he was leaving, he folded the papers in half and shoved them into a coat pocket, grumbling about just what he thought about Michael’s comments on his communication skills. That was when he noticed the little white dog with black ears and a brown face, sitting just outside the main entryway. It wasn’t an unusual sight to see dogs waiting patiently at the gates of Heaven for their master to come join them. They were a species known for loyalty and after all, all dogs go to Heaven. So, it wasn’t simply the sight of a dog that caught his eye. No, it was the fact that Aziraphale thought he might recognize this particular dog. It was hard to say, dogs did tend to look alike. This one was clearly a mutt, but with a distinctly terrier-like appearance and something about her markings definitely rung a bell.

He approached it with curiosity and while he couldn’t tell if he recognized the dog, she seemed to recognize him. The second she spotted him her tail began thumping the ground furiously and she gave a hearty, cheerful bark, jumping up to put her paws on Aziraphale’s leg and beg for pets.

“Why hello there,” He chuckled, giving her a friendly scratch behind the ears.

“Are you who I think you are?” He asked, kneeling down so he could better examine her collar.

He thought back to the day he first met the dog. It was a cold grey afternoon in late November, 1957. He vividly remembered the sight of Crowley strutting up to him in St. James Park for one of their usual meetings, holding the leash of a very eager dog who essentially trying to yank his arm off in order to have a go at the ducks. The angel had let out a rather rude burst of laughter, receiving an unamused glare from his demonic counterpart. He apologized profusely but between the inherent absurdity and utter unexpectedness of a demon being dragged along by a little lapdog, he couldn’t help himself. When Aziraphale questioned why exactly he was walking a dog, Crowley had just shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s a good way to pass the time,” He’d explained simply. Aziraphale had half expected him to try and argue that the dog somehow helped him tempt people to sin. Like maybe finding excrement on their lawns made them angry enough to go out and do some evil, but no such explanation came. “Plus, they only live ten, maybe thirteen years? She’ll be gone in the blink of an eye,”

That was eighteen years ago. He turned held the shiny golden tag on her collar in his fingers now and read the name. “Laika” it said. He frowned. That didn’t seem quite right. He tried to think back to what Crowley had called his dog. The sound of his friend’s voice rang out in his mind.

“_Layla! _Layla come here!” He had called out in vain as the dog continued to bark up the base of a tree at a squirrel. After they had settled their business matters, Aziraphale was quite happy he wouldn’t have to catch the five AM train to Manchester that Friday, he had decided to join Crowley on his dog-walking endeavor. During their stroll, Layla had presented Crowley with a stick she found on the ground, and so he let her off leash for a game of fetch. Only for her to almost immediately get distracted by the many rodents and birds there were to chase. Aziraphale tried to hide his amusement as the demon’s voice grew more and more frustrated. Crowley caught him snickering at him. “I just got her, she hasn’t learned her name yet,” He said defensively. Eventually, he’d had to just go and scoop the still yapping dog up, lest she keep them there all afternoon.

“Did she not have a name at the shelter where you got her?” Aziraphale asked curiously. “I mean, she’s not a puppy, surely she had to have a previous owner,”

“No, she was a stray,” Crowley explained as he clipped her back on to the leash. Aziraphale had wondered what had possessed Crowley to bring in a dog he saw on the street. It was no secret to the angel that his companion had a soft spot for those who couldn’t protect themselves, such as children, but that usually just meant he avoided doing them any harm rather than going out of his way to help them himself. Though, that could be because doing something as philanthropic as helping children could get him in serious trouble in Hell. He supposed taking in a stray dog was an act of kindness that didn’t directly benefit any humans or save any souls, so Hell might not take notice. Still, if that was the case, he wondered why Crowley hadn’t taken care of any animals before then. Why had he decided to adopt _this _dog?

Confident in his own memory, Aziraphale decided the dog sitting in front of him now must not have belonged to Crowley. Even so, the name “Laika” still tugged at a different string in his mind.

“Laika… Laika…” He muttered to himself as he continued to pet the dog. “Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed when he remembered. “You’re that outer space dog!” He said with recognition.

Crowley had been obsessed with the space race. The technology and the science had been a bit too complicated for Aziraphale to understand at the time, but he had listened attentively as his friend ranted over lunch about how he couldn’t believe what was motivating humans to explore the stars was some _bloody pissing contest _between nations. Offended as he was, Aziraphale could still sense the excitement radiating off him when he described seeing Sputnik pass through the sky for the first time.

“I just saw this tiny little blinking light off in the distance and it really… well it hit me,”

“What hit you?”

“They’re going to see it,” Crowley had replied, his expression looked eons away in that moment. His voice was soft when he spoke again, but Aziraphale could still hear the gentle fondness in his tone. “One day, they’re finally going to see what we made for them,”

Two weeks later, they had sat in Crowley’s flat, each well into their sixth drink of the night. “The Russians, you know? I think they’re going to get there first,” Crowley slurred, holding back a belch, trying his hardest to have a serious conversation. “To space, I mean,”

“Haven’t they already?” Aziraphale asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “They put that Stup… Spup… Spuppik up there, right?”

“S’just a metal thing, no people in it, I meant they’ll be the first people in space,” Crowley explained, waving his hand above his head to illustrate his point. “They’re going to try and get one with a dog in it up there soon,” He said, his face lighting up with excitement. “Just like Sputnik but with the first living thing in orbit!”

“How’re they going to get it down?” Aziraphale asked skeptically. Crowley looked at him blankly. “Stunik just floats around up there right? They haven’t brought it back,”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” He muttered, concern gradually edging its way into his inebriated expression.

Another fortnight later and, though he obviously hadn’t been as invested as Crowley, he was sad to see in the paper that Laika had died just a few days after her initial launch.

“Thank you for your service,” Aziraphale said to the little cosmonaut in front of him. A treat materialized between his fingers and Laika took it from him graciously. “You’ve been waiting a long time then,” He added, giving her a sympathetic look. He figured she was probably waiting on some scientist that had trained her for her mission. He examined the tag closer to read the dates beneath her name, wondering if she had at least lived a full life before she, unbeknownst to her, sacrificed herself for the greater good.

“1954-1967”

He stared in confusion. That couldn’t be right. Laika had been launched into Orbit in the fifties, he was sure of it, because by the late sixties he distinctly remembered the humans making a big deal over putting other _humans _in space. It must be a coincidence, he thought, Laika must have been a popular name for dogs in 1950’s USSR. If she was Russian though, Aziraphale wondered why she would be waiting at this particular entrance which lead directly down to central London. Perhaps she had immigrated.

All of these things were plausible, but it felt like he was forcing puzzle pieces from the same box into the wrong picture. Slowly, as he looked over each piece in his mind, he began building a different image.

An image of black wings flapping full speed to break through a heavy atmosphere into the endless cold and the quiet lurking just beyond. Of inhumanly strong hands prying open metal to reveal a shaking, whining dog hooked up to a million different sensors. Of that terrified little creature being gently drawn close to a body that miraculously allowed her to breath. Of yellow eyes flicking out to gaze briefly on a tapestry they had once witnessed the weaving of.

Another memory rose to the surface of his mind.

He stood up and took a step back from the dog. Then he patted his chest and held his hands out. “Layla, up!” He commanded. In an instant, she sprung athletically into his arms.

“_Layla, up!_” Crowley had crowed proudly as he showed off her new trick to the angel that summer. For a stray, she had caught on to training quickly; and she had finally learned her name. “That’s my good girl,” Crowley praised as she covered his face in kisses of adoration. “That’s my Layla, that’s my brave little girl!” He continued to coo thoughtlessly.

“Brave?” Aziraphale had questioned. “I guess it is a high jump for such a little dog,” He joked.

Crowley looked embarrassed at letting the odd compliment slip out. “Well, uh, I mean, I just call her that sometimes,” He replied, trying to brush it off. “She’s a stray after all. Pretty brave to have been out there all on her own,” He said it to cover his tracks, but with this new context Aziraphale finally understood what he had really meant.

The furry ball of love in his arms, her tail still wagging away, was indeed Crowley’s brave little girl.

The angel’s heart broke for her the moment he put it all together.

She was waiting for a master who would never join her. Of course, she didn’t know that. Whether the person who had rescued her was a human or a demon made no difference to her. One day she had been cradled in his arms, or curled at his feet, or maybe even alone in his flat waiting for him to come home, and then she’d found herself here, without him. In her mind, there was nothing to do but wait for him to find her again. To a dog, their owner is the center of a very small universe. Laika was no different, even if she’d seen a great deal more of the actual universe than most. There was no way to tell her that long ago it had been decided that he may never pass through those gates again. That when she had left him on that fateful day, she had wound up in the one place he could not reach. Her duty was to her master. So, here she would sit, patiently, as eternity passed her by. She was a good dog in life and after. 

“You poor dear,” Aziraphale sighed, hugging her tiny form close to his body.

Even now, her eyes were aimed over his shoulder at the gates.

Aziraphale gently cupped a hand over the back of her head and placed a small kiss on the side of her muzzle. Finally, her tail slowed to a halt. A somber sort of calm settled over her. Without the exchange of silly human words, he had soothed the yearning in her heart. He had relieved her of her duties. “Don’t worry,” He said, his voice near to a whisper. “I’ll look after him for you,”

With that he gently set her on the ground again. He gave her one final scratch behind the ears, looking into her big, dark eyes. “Now go and find some friends to play with, enjoy yourself,” She gave him a lighthearted yip. Then she looked behind her at the glowing expanse that was Heaven. She hadn’t even made it through the door yet really. The angel let out a long, high whistle and gradually the sound of barking began to emerge from the distance. No doubt other strays who had passed without having found someone to wait for. He hadn’t brought them to Heaven, only summoned them to the gate. Her ears perked up and her tail began wagging again before she ran off through the clouds to greet her new pack. He smiled warmly as he watched.

When she was out of sight, he turned and began the long, slow descent back to Earth.

He thought about the life she had lived while she was on her Earth. A fairly remarkable life for a dog, to be sure. First to be sent to space, then rescued and cared for by a demon of all people. A demon that had doted on her, from what Aziraphale was able to remember. She spent many an afternoon curled under cafe tables, getting slipped treats from a plate Crowley hadn’t even taken a bite from. His choice of an all-black wardrobe had become a bit of a problem during those years. Often times when he would show up to meet Aziraphale with little white specks of fur covering his trousers and he’d roll his eyes at the angel’s laughter, only to miracle it away. He would make the same excuse every time. “I’m used to it by this point, you should see my bed sheets. I could make another dog out of the hair I find there,”

She had lived to a good old age for a dog, thirteen years was nothing to sniff at. He thought about the year listed on her collar, 1967. Crowley had begun to become reclusive in the spring of that year. He didn’t call up the angel for lunch or for drinks nearly as much as he had been since they reconnected during the war. When Aziraphale discovered his holy water heist, he assumed that was why Crowley had been withdrawn. He simply chalked it up to the demon trying to keep his plan a secret. Now he wondered if that very plan wasn’t catalyzed by a subtle reminder that all things must come to an end. In the year leading up to that one, the demon had stopped bringing Layla out of the house as often. When he did, her movements were slower, her hips gradually becoming too weak to jump and sprint the way she used to. The fact that eventually he stopped bringing her around at all, hadn’t really occurred to the angel. After giving his friend the demonic equivalent of a self-destruct button, his mind had been filled with far too many concerns and emotions to notice the absence.

After Aziraphale had gotten out of the Bentley on that fateful night, Crowley and him had begun to lose touch again. Despite what he had said about wanting to make plans with him soon, it became hard to be around Crowley. He was processing a lot of feelings surrounding the fact that perhaps the only person on Earth, or off it for that matter, who truly understood him would so readily abandon him if it meant escaping punishment. As he’d said, it felt like the demon moved much too fast.

Perhaps, though, it wasn’t that Crowley was ready to leave everything behind in a moment. Maybe instead, Crowley was reacting to just how quickly everything could leave him behind. The world was fragile compared to them. Everything on it could be broken and destroyed so much more easily than they could as immortals. Dogs died, people died, cities burned, empires rose and fell in the blink of the universe’s eye. All that remained, was them. Perhaps having something that could destroy him just as easily at his fingertips was his own warped way of coping.

When he reached London once again he found himself walking not back in the direction of his bookshop, but instead, directly into a telephone booth.

“Hello… Crowley? Are you free?... How about that picnic?”

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is a bit different than what I usually write (either pointless fluff, equally pointless smut, or my own very in depth au lol) but I hope you guys enjoy it none the less! 
> 
> Sorry I haven't been pumping out content as often as I usually do either, it's because I've been moving house. This was actually the first fic I wrote in my new place! Things might continue to be sporadic as I unpack and get settled.


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